“Would you have told me?”

“What?” He squinted at me, even though the room was dark.

“Would you have told me about the call if I hadn’t accidentally overheard?”

His nose wrinkled and his lips pushed to one side. At least he was giving my question consideration. Had to hand it to him for not dismissing me outright.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, and I couldn’t hide my flinch.

“Right.”

“I know that doesn’t sound good. I know you don’t like it, but I don’t know, Em. It took me by surprise, shocked the hell out of me. Can you blame me for being thrown?”

No. The shitty part was I couldn’t. All this time he’d loved her, regretted not being the husband he should have—or could have been for her, and there she was, keeping in touch and telling him about her own engagement in the hopes he’d come back. Talk about a mindfuck.

I shook my head. “No. I understand that.”

For wanting to talk, he was awfully silent.

He picked at my duvet cover, and the silence ticked on.

“What are you going to do?” The words burned my throat, and I fought back tears.

“Do?”

“Yeah. With Ava. What are you going to do?”

His eyes widened in surprise and he quickly blinked it away. Pressing a hand to the bed, he leaned toward me. “Em. I’m not going to do anything about Ava. She left. She played the game she played, and that fucking hurts because I was all cut up about losing her, and she made it seem like she was trying to be friendly, move on. She made it seem like she wanted me to move on. And to find out that was all some ridiculous and dangerous and just fucking stupid game so I’d put a stop to it? I don’t hurt knowing things could have been different all those years ago… I’m fucking pissed she didn’t talk to me.”

“Oh.” I sat up in my bed and kept the covers tucked tightly around my chest and stomach. “I figured—”

“I know what you figured. It kills me I put that look on your face and those tears in your eyes, too. And I can’t sit here and tell you had she called a month ago, or six, with the same thing, things wouldn’t be different. I won’t lie to you about that, but things are different now. I’m married. To you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

As if I needed the reminder. My wedding band was a heavy weight on my finger, and I rolled it with my thumb.

“It’s not real,” I gulped over the thickness rising in my throat.

“The fuck it isn’t.”

He shoved off the bed and pushed his hands through his hair, clasping them at the back of his head. “My head feels like I’m at a country bar, and the crowd is doing a line dance on my brain, and I might still throw up, so I know I’m not thinking clearly, but you can’t sit there and still say none of what we’ve shared isn’t real, can you?”